It wasn't often that Fr. Mulcahy got a moment to breathe.

After completing various jobs, he found himself in the Mess Tent with the last of his favorite brand of tea.

Watching the various personnel relaxing around him after their latest marathon session, it took a minute for him to realize that he wasn't alone.

"Ah, Hawkeye," he smiled warmly, but wearily. "I believe congratulations are in order."

"For surviving this long, I'll take it," he smiled back.

It wasn't quite what Mulcahy was getting at, but it really didn't matter.

"Sydney has left, I take it."

"Two hours ago," he nodded, the doctor also watching those around them. "Said to tell you that he'd catch up with you later."

"I would like to have him visit more than every time we need his services," he chuckled.

The psychiatrist was a good friend, but he was usually brought to camp because of someone else's problems. Just once, the priest would like his friend to visit because he wanted to.

"I'm sure he does, too," Hawkeye nodded, falling silent.

Mulcahy sighed as he drained the last of his cup. "Well, my friend," he stood, absently grabbing his hat on the way. "I suppose I'll see you a bit later. I have some last minute things to take care of."

"Happy trails," the doctor waved, eliciting a smile as the younger man left.

Talking with the oddball doctor always gave the resident priest a good feeling. Mulcahy wandered the camp, stopping to check in with visitors and friends alike.

Oh, there didn't seem to be any reason why Hawkeye or BJ, or even Charles, would leave him with a good feeling, but there seemed to be a general consensus that the 'Swamp Rats' were the heart and soul of the 4077th.

Mulcahy thanked God for every smile the trio left in their wake. The camp would surely be a sorrier place without them.

But he wondered what contribution he made to the morale of camp. Besides the obvious, of course.

He was heading back from the night's movie hours later and was passing the Swamp when he ran into Hawkeye yet again.

"Just seem to keep running into each other, don't we?" Hawkeye grinned, wrapping an arm around him.

"It appears that way, yes."

Mulcahy didn't really have close friends in camp, but it was nice to think he wasn't as far as he believed himself to be in that regard.

"Something wrong, Father?"

"Hm? Oh. No, no, I just… Well. Is there anything I contribute to morale?" he reluctantly questioned. He didn't want to seem too anxious of the answer, but he was and didn't think he hid it very well.

"Of course, you do," Hawkeye pulled him in a little closer. "Place wouldn't be the same without you."

"Oh, I doubt that. You seem to be the indispensable one."

"Now, what makes you think that?" he turned to frown at him.

"Everyone knows that you are the one to go to when they need some cheering up. Why do people go to me? Besides the obvious, of course."

Hawkeye was trying to find an answer when they arrived at their destination.

"Father," he kept him from entering his tent for another minute. "Don't think that you aren't important to this camp. A lot of people here like hanging out with you just because."

Hawkeye didn't usually make a habit of lying to him, so Mulcahy let it go this once because the doctor seemed to believe it. "And you are one of those many people?"

"Sure," he nodded.

Mulcahy smiled at him and waved as the doctor went on his way. "Goodnight, Hawkeye."

"Night, Father," his blue eyes had a mischievous sparkle before he turned.

Mulcahy woke the next morning fully prepared to be entertained by that sparkle.

But nothing seemed out of place or anything.

"Hey, Father," BJ fell into step with him for a few paces. "Something on your mind?"

"I don't mean to pry, but… I got the feeling last night that Hawkeye was up to something."

"Really?" the taller man frowned in thought for a moment before shrugging. "Sydney did give him something before he left yesterday. Maybe whatever was in the package gave him some kind of idea."

Mulcahy hummed a little and determined that it must have been the cause. BJ had to leave for his shift in Post-Op, so he continued on alone to breakfast.

"Morning, Father," Klinger called, waving a ladle at him.

"Hello, Klinger. Any recommendations?"

"Yeah, don't eat that, that, or that. This – whatever it is – seems to be safe. Oh, and these two over here."

"I'll have that, then," Mulcahy smiled slightly as the Lebanese corpsman dished them onto his tray.

"Happy eating," Klinger called after him before turning to the next customer in line.

Finding a seat, he exchanged some small talk with Margaret before she also had to leave for Post-Op. He was trying to decide if he wanted coffee or water when Hawkeye appeared next to him, sliding a cup in front of him.

"Here, you go, Father."

He blinked up at him before studying the cup. "Hot water," he noted.

"Very good," he grinned before sitting across from him. "Now, try this," he reached over and plunked something inside of the steaming beverage.

It was a bag of his favorite tea blend!

"Hawkeye, how - ?"

"I told you, Father," the doctor seemed pleased about his reaction. "People hang out with you just because. If they hang out with you long enough, they figure out what blend of tea you like the most."

"Well, I don't know what to say," he smiled widely.

"There's that smile I was wondering about," Colonel Potter grinned in response as he slid into the seat next to him. "Good to see your morale up, Father."

Mulcahy blinked, remembering what BJ had told him. "When on earth did you talk to Sydney about this?" he turned to Hawkeye.

"Oh, a while ago," he shrugged. "I noticed you were getting low on tea, so I thought I'd have him bring a box on his next visit. Oh, here," he dug out a small container from a pocket. Depositing it on the table, he exchanged smiles with Potter as Mulcahy inspected it. "There's more where that came from, too, if you want."

Mulcahy wasn't sure anything other than 'thank you' would do it, so when the doctor got up to leave, the priest jumped up in the middle of a conversation with Potter and wrapped his arms around the man. "Thank you doesn't begin to cover it," he pulled away, sort of embarrassed about the display of affection, but was pleasantly surprised when Hawkeye pulled him back in.

"Don't worry about it."

Once Mulcahy had re-taken his seat, Potter leaned over. "You know, he's right, Father. People do hang out with you just because. It gives people a moment of peace when they want quiet or someone to talk to when they're feeling chatty."

"And why does Hawkeye hang out with me, then?" he wanted to know, taking his first sip of his drink.

"Well, I figure he does it because he knows that he can get your morale up. You do have a habit of smiling more when Pierce, Hunnicutt or Winchester get done with you."

"Well, he certainly did with this," he tapped his mug. "I should probably have expected something like this from him."

"But you didn't because he doesn't seem like the type. And, sure, Pierce is more in it for the jokes than anything else, but not when it counts. Especially to his friends," Potter smiled knowingly. And he knew what friends meant to the doctor.

He wondered if his mild mannered companion knew that Hawkeye would do anything for him, or try to. The priest, especially, held a special place in the doctor's heart as a veritable field of ideas for any number of things.

But most importantly, the priest was a testing field for any ideas that Hawkeye had about how to make someone happier.

Potter couldn't help thinking that – among the contributions of everyone else to morale – Fr. Mulcahy had the most important of all: being the calming force behind the best morale boosters he'd ever seen. Oh, it wasn't to say that the good Father didn't have a few surprises up his own sleeve, but that made him one of the best underestimated personnel in camp, contributing his own talents for morale.

Potter toasted him with his coffee as the younger man savored his replenished tea stash.

A toast and a present for someone who deserved a moment of recognition for everything he's done.

There was no better way than that.